


Banding Together

by DeadishScribe



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Building Love, Drinking & Talking, Eating, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Heart-to-Heart, Love, Marriage Proposal, Marriage of Convenience, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Part 2, Post-Time Skip, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soup, To Be Continued, To Be Edited, Wartime, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadishScribe/pseuds/DeadishScribe
Summary: The war for Fodlan rages, and those who fight within it find comfort and solace in those around them. The same is true for Ingrid Brandl Galatea, my original character-Samwell Pravitz-and the rest of the Blue Lions. However, one seemingly innocuous evening, Samwell and Ingrid dine together in merriment leading well into the night. What leaves Samwell's lips might just change their lives forever.Who knew that a simple dinner could so greatly alter one's fate?As of yet, I have nine (9) chapters planned out with more to be added. When I get to them is anyone's guess.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Everyone, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Everyone, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Everyone, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Original Male Character(s), Samwell/Ingrid, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Everyone, oc/Ingrid
Kudos: 4





	1. A Sobering Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me as I was chatting with my best friend about our Three Houses OCs and shipping and what not. As a member of the Blue Lions, Ingrid came up and it struck me like lightning. Both characters face rough situations, and every came together so that a marriage of convenience transforming into a marriage of love could work out splendidly.  
> I've always enjoyed the idea of building love in a marriage. Not forced, mind you, but two people looking each other in the eye and saying that they would be partners standing side by side. There is something romantic about natural chemistry, yes, but there is also something terribly romantic in self-forged love.

They sat there across from one another, eating the daily special. Not at all uncommon for the two of them. Ingrid and Samwell, knightly buddies in arms. Ashe, unfortunately, couldn’t join them as he normally would on account of the fact that he had already made plans to spar with Catherine at the same time. This wasn’t much of a problem, of course—training is essential in wartime—but a bummer all the same.

“So, in that last battle”

“Yeah?” Sam kept his gaze on the woman before him as he brought the soup to his lips. He recoiled from the heat and decided it was best to blow it off first, much to the amusement of Ingrid.

“Your shield work was impeccable, that strike would have killed Mercedes”

“Ah, well, thank you!” Sam gleamed, the pride ever so apparent on his face, “and I must say, you’ve really perfected your skills with a lance”

“You think so?”

“Most definitely! Not that they weren’t impressive to begin with, but since our academy days you’ve really blossomed”

A light flush painted her cheeks, “Blossomed eh? Can’t say I’ve ever been described like that before.”

“O-oh! I uh… I hope that I didn’t—”

“No! It’s fine, really… in fact, I kinda liked it” she said with a giggle. Now Sam was the blushing one.

“We really have come a long way, haven’t we?” his face softened ever so slightly as he spoke.

Nostalgia washed over her thoughts, memories long neglected surfacing to the forefront of her mind “Mhm. Feels like a lifetime, but it’s only been five years”

“Tell me about it. This war’s been dragging on for a while now, though I suppose there have been longer conflicts, and as dangerous as it is, it’s at least profitable”

Ingrid couldn’t help but pause. Profitable? What the hell did that mean? People have been dying by the hundreds, even thousands, and he describes it as _profitable_? That didn’t seem like him at all. Sam was always so concerned with the human element of things, even in the worst of situations, so to hear him talk about money amidst the bloodshed certainly… well, she wasn’t sure how to feel about.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! I know how it sounds but…” he paused, looking down to swirl his soup, “my ma’s been a merchant for a long time now, so I know a lil’ about economics and the like”

“I thought you came from a noble house, House Pravitz”

His spoon froze in his hands, “I am, but that was… a long time ago”

“What happened?”

A sigh escaped his lips, his eyes dragging their heels in the sand as he forced them to look at her, “I… I don’t much like to talk about it”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t pry. I won’t—”

“My father is a good man, but he isn’t what one could call frugal. Or wise. Or sensible”

“What do you mean?”

There was a long pause, and Samwell could look anywhere but to Ingrid. Sylvain breaking another poor girl’s heart. Mercedes and Annette chatting and giggling over what was a scandalous book no doubt. Felix… doing whatever it was that Felix was doing. Dimitri was most likely brooding in the cathedral as he usually did.

“My father has… _had_ a gambling addiction. He squandered the family fortune, and then when he had nothing left to bet, he put our ancestral lands in the pot of some dumb card game” his jaw tensed, his temples shifting, and his knuckles became ever so pale.

“Samwell…”

“Needless to say, he lost, and we were forced to leave. Since then, ma forbade him from the family finances, to which he readily agreed. Now he takes care of the domestic duties, fishes and reads in his free time”

“Is that how your mother was able to afford sending you here?”

A deep nod was her answer, “Yes, turns out she’s damn good at turning a profit, even if she travels to the ends of Fodlan and back to do it.”

“That can’t be easy”

Sam merely gave a shrug, “It is what it is”

“Still”

“I made sure not to squander that opportunity. I trained hard, studied hard, all so that I might one day reclaim our home. That is my dream… well, aside from being a knight in the name of the people” he gave a chuckle and resumed to eat his soup. Didn’t want it to get cold, especially with the side of mince pie waiting for his attention.

Ingrid couldn’t help but look on. She could sense a sort of sadness paint itself on her face, though she wasn’t entirely sure if that was just her imagination at play.

Sometimes she forgot just how alike the two of them were, at least when it came to their aspirations. The end goals and the reasons were different, yes, but the values and ideals were very much the same; service, chivalry, valor, honor. While she wished to serve her king, he wished to serve his people and family. Two sides of the same coin. It was something she admired about him, his dedication. In her mind, to serve a greater good was amongst the most noble things one could strive for. And, as she had touched on before, his skill was something to behold. Even their teacher struggled to breach his defenses at times, though that could very well be attributed to his relic, the Shield of Pravitz. At the same time, using the shield in tandem with his relentless attacks and magical flair only made it all the more difficult. He was even more terrifying atop his steed. Ingrid had heard whispers that he was something known as a Grave Knight, though she had never properly heard the term before then. Something to read up on, if nothing else.

Then she thought of their respective situations. Somehow so very different yet so very similar. He wasn’t being pushed to marry, but his family had so little all the same, and he bore the responsibility of that on his shoulders. It was up to him to give them hope, to give them the salvation they so desperately craved. Just like her.

“That’s quite admirable of you, to defend those who cannot defend themselves”

Sam was finishing his bowl when he paused, set it back down, and cupped it in both hands, “I suppose… If I am to be honest, I’m also quite selfish. I came here to restore my family, helping others is merely the second bird I wish to hit with the one stone I have been given”. A quaint smile spread across his lips before he downed the last of the soup, deliberately setting the bowl aside to slide the pie in front of him. Not cold just yet, excellent.

Ingrid took a moment to pause herself, “It is admirable all the same. I don’t think I becomes any less righteous by mixing your own personal goals with your duty. When you take a good, hard look at it, everything we do is arguably selfish. We have the choice to do as we wish.”

His head cocked as his fork dug into the pie before him, “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean to say that we only ever do anything because we want to. Why are people kind? Because they want to be, because it is what they believe in. Like that, we want to do good because it is appealing to us, it’s what calls to us”

“Huh, I suppose that’s true. I never thought of it that way” he continued the motion of his fork to scoop pie in his mouth, the sweet meats blending ever so perfectly with the crisp, golden brown crust. His father always said there was little like a good meal to lift the spirits. He was certainly onto something.

The two of them resumed their meal in silence for a short while, though not an awkward silence in the slightest. It was one of mutual understanding—and hunger. Sam was far less prudent with the mead than Ingrid was, but his thirst stimulated her own. Soon enough they were speaking again, or rather giggling and laughing. Those in the dining hall milled out in a steady stream, one hour after the next, until only the two knights remained. Neither was sure how many tankards they had gone through. Enough to not be totally inebriated, at least, but certainly enough to be rosy cheeked. Perhaps off balance, if only ever so slightly.

“S-s-s-o-o-o, Samwell, aside from knighthood and family land and whatnot, what else is it that you want?”

“You mean… from, like, life?”

“Mmhmmm”

His eyes bore a hole into the table, mustering what brainpower he had into forming his answer, “Well… writing is appealing. Being a warrior poet has a certain… romance to it, no?”

“I fully agree! I’ve always loved legends, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard one of a warrior poet that I didn’t like”

A big, toothy grin spread on his face from ear to ear “Really? I’m glad to hear it! And what about you?”

“Hm?” she cocked an eyebrow

“You asked, it’s only fair for me to ask the same. What else do you want from life? Knighthood is all well and good, but there must be more than that!”

“More than that… hmm…” it was her turn now to think long and hard. What _did_ she want? “I guess… to be happy”

A solemn nod was her response, “A good answer if ever I heard one. Happiness is far too often overlooked”

Ingrid gazed to the side, scratching an arm as she gave a weak chuckle, “Overlooked, that’s an understatement” her words trailed off, her eyes glazing over ever so slightly.

Her friend’s face straightened out. Not overly stoic, simply concerned, “Are you ok? Did I say something wrong…?”

Ingrid’s awareness was dragged back to the present by the question, “Oh, no, you said nothing wrong”

“Then what—?”

Her eyes dropped to the wooden table before her, though her gaze lie a thousand yards away “You were talking before, about your family’s financial troubles”

He nodded in response, “That I was”

“You see—” her eyes met his with an unspoken link forming, “—my family faces similar struggles. The lands of Faerghus have never been particularly fertile, as you likely well know. The harvest is often scarce if not lacking altogether. My father… he wishes to marry me off to another noble house, one with enough money to support our own. Doing that would put my dream of being a knight to an end, but I haven’t the heart to tell him, and besides… what if I hate my fiancé? What if I don’t even like them…?” Samwell said nothing as she spoke, if for no other reason than he could think of nothing proper to say “I’m sorry for troubling you with all this out of the blue, though I suppose it’s fair that you’ve heard my story since I’ve heard yours eh?” her face was soon buried in a mug, downing a few gulps before she gasped for breath, “This is good stuff, huh?”

“What if you could do both?”

“Uh… huh?” her eyebrow raised at the question.

“What if you could get married _and_ become a knight? Why does it have to be one or the other?”

“I appreciate the thought, Sam, but it’s not that simple”

“Why not?”

That made her think. In her mind, she knew why it wasn’t, but forming that into words was something else entirely. To be able to understand something was not the same as being able to explain it, “Well… I guess… I guess it’s possible, but it’s so unlikely. It’s hard to bring a crest into your bloodline when the would be mother is off galivanting in battle. To never be home to bear a child, or to get killed before I have the chance, would defeat the point of the marriage altogether. My crest is really the only bargaining chip we have.”

Sam’s head shook, something beyond disapproval in his voice, “Not true. Not true at all”

Now the blush on her cheeks was due to more than just the drink, “I appreciate the thought, Sam, but it’s true. All I have to offer is my crest.” She carried on, partially disparaging herself as she defended her line of reasoning.

“You have more to offer than your blood. You are strong, capable, intelligent… beautiful. Any man would be fortunate to be your husband”

“Samwell…” her lips parted and closed, then did so once more before she spoke again, “Thank you, I appreciate that—more than you know—but no one’s concerned with any of that, only my crest”

However, she was brought to a swift halt by a sobering proposition.

“Why don’t you marry me, then?”

She coughed and sputtered, though no mead had touched her lips, “I’m sorry, _what_?” had the hall not been empty, more than a few eyes would be on them.

“Marry—”

“I heard what you said I just…” her hands entwined together beneath the table, fidgeting in a hopeless attempt to control herself, “Don’t understand why you would say such a thing…”

“It’s simple, or rather, straightforward—” he shifted as he spoke, “—I know you’re not necessarily keen on marriage, or at least you’ve never really expressed an interest in it. In this case, I guess… well…” his words trailed off, his gaze darting to the side.

“Sam, go on. I’ll listen to what you have to say”

The man was able to bring his eyes back to her, swallowing down any doubt he may have had. Well, perhaps not all of it, “We find one another agreeable at the very least. You wouldn’t hate me, I wouldn’t hate you. I like to think we wouldn’t dread our life together. So, that alleviates one your concerns. I certainly wouldn’t force or pressure you into motherhood as far as money goes, like I said, my mother’s a skilled merchant. They were more or less comfortable even after sending me to the academy. More than that, my mother’s connections would prove to be even more valuable. And, if nothing else, my folks are kind people, and they would love you!” a chuckle escaped his lips as he went to finish off his tankard, only to find that he had long ago. _Well, shit._

“I… I see” she said as she stared into her own mug. A now empty mug, unfortunately. This was all rather sudden, though that didn’t need saying. They both knew it.

It was a long while before either of them spoke. After a while longer, he stood, half wobbly in his attempt, “I’m sorry, I’m a tad drunk, I shouldn’t have said anything. It was a stupid idea.”

“No!” he heard, a hand grasping his ever so gently, though it retreated nearly as quickly once he had turned back to Ingrid. It took some effort to clear her throat before speaking again “It’s just a bit to take in, is all… thinking about my future amidst this war that’s taken the futures of so many others… it feels selfish. I haven’t given myself that indulgence”

“Well, you should”

Her eyes shot up, seeing that Sam’s face had donned the same seriousness from before, “I’m… not sure what to say to that”

“Agree with it, that’s what”

“But—”

“No buts, just agree. There’s no point in fighting a war if we don’t look to the future. That’s _why_ we’re fighting; for the future.There’s nothing wrong with considering your own. And like you said before, everything is ultimately selfish. You can’t give me a free pass only to turn around and punish yourself for the same thing”

“I suppose you have a point, but what about you? What do you see in your future?”

He was taken aback, ‘a cat be having his tongue’ as Petra would have said. The monastery certainly had far more than its fair share, “I’m… not sure”

“Hypocrite” the word would have sounded serious had it not been for her chuckle, “I guess we both need to learn to think about ourselves as much as we do others”

“Yeah, I guess we do”

A long silence followed, this time most certainly awkward. What was there to say? What _could_ they say? Her face didn’t bear any signs of ill will, no lines or furrows or the like. No frown or grimace, no scowl or glare. Just a look of pondering, her eyes not inherently avoiding his, but simply off to the side, lost in thought. His own eyes stayed on her as he sat back down. Thoughts swirled through his head. More than a few were filled with doubt. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, let alone his entire body. What had he been thinking? It was simple; he wasn’t.

Sam couldn’t say he was opposed to the idea itself—Ingrid would make for a fine wife and companion, let alone the fact that he was the one to suggest it—but he had made a fool of himself. She was is comrade in arms, a dear friend, and he blabbered out a half-drunk thought with the weight of an ox. He hadn’t considered her potential feelings on the matter or how she would respond, how it might affect her. She deserved more than that. After having already asked, he wondered just how fair that was to her. There was much to unpack in that little question alone. The implications, the possibilities, the sheer enormity of the question itself.

He couldn’t take it back now. Even if he wanted to.

In the briefest of moments Ingrid was now standing. Not uneasy like him, however; upright, confident, poised and in control, “It’s a lot to think on, but I promise, I will think on it”

Now he found himself to be standing, though he couldn’t remember having actually made the motion to do so, “Really, it wasn’t thought out when I had said it, if you want to forget all about it I would—”

He was interrupted by a gentle shaking of her head, “No, Sam, I don’t think I could forget… even if I wanted to”

Their eyes met, unflinching. What lie behind them was a mystery to the other, perhaps even a mystery to themselves.

Sam realized he hadn’t heard the monastery bells ring in some time and decided to check the nearest clock. It was rather difficult to see in the dim dining hall, but after a few solid seconds of looking past his inebriation he had finally discerned the hour, “My, it’s late, almost midnight!”

“Has it been that long? Time truly does fly, doesn’t it?”

“As swiftly as your pegasus”

Air blew through her nostrils in amusement as she turned to walk off. Before she did, however, she looked back with a tender smile, “Goodnight… Samwell”

He bowed at the waist, an arm wrapping around his front with the other resting on his back. Once her steps had become but echoes, he brought himself back up, albeit slowly as to not make a mess of the floor. Sam turned to the direction of his own dorm room, putting one foot in front of the other in concentrated thought. He just hoped he could make it back in one piece before sunrise.

But oh, what a night it had been, and oh, how had it been worth it.


	2. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following evening. Sam is left reeling from the ramifications of his actions. Friends couldn't agree more on the sanity (or lack thereof) of his question. What will happen? Could this tear the inseparable Blue Lions apart? Find out on this episode of Banding Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this for a little bit now. The ideas were in my head, and they were formatting, but it was one of those incremental pieces (I'm totally not ignoring my numerous other WIPs right now. Nope. Not at all.). Bit by bit, it fell together, and this is the product! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Edit, June 12th: I've added a date and a few lines to the fic because... Reasons. Nothing too noticeable though, just some fine tuning.

_**23rd Day of the Guardian Moon, Year 1185 of the Imperial Calendar** _

“So, what is it you needed to talk about?” Ashe asked as he closed the door behind the four of them. Ashe, Sylvain, and Felix; the only people Sam could turn to at a time like this, though the latter was a rather reluctant choice.

Felix himself was reluctant about all of this, it didn’t smell right to him, “Yeah, what’s this all about, I have things to do” his broody voice spoke from the corner as it plopped into a chair. He had no problem making himself at home, even if it wasn’t his room to begin with.

Samwell fidgeted and shifted, his fingers wringing together like a pile of clammy worms. His breathing was even enough, if a bit deep, but his eyes fluttered from one man to the next, then back again. How would he start this off? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t make him sound crazy? How could he keep a coherent line of thought with this damnable headache? “Y’see, well…”

Sylvain placed a hand on the poor man’s shoulder, he clearly needed the support. Call him what you like, Sylvain was an unmovable stone when he needed to be, but only for the right people, and Sam just so happened to be one of those people “It’s alright, my friend, take your time”

One breath in, one breath out, another in, and another out. _Inner calm, Samwell,_ he thought, _inner calm._ His eyes opened at last with one final breath, “I proposed to Ingrid. For her hand in marriage”

Silence.

_Nothing but silence._

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly, did you just say that you _proposed to Ingrid Galatea_ ” Felix was often the first to question, well, questionable ideas. He was more than right to do so now. The scolding tone to his words didn’t help much, however. Perhaps that’s what Sam needed to be set straight though. If he need to be in the first place, that is.

Sylvain spoke next, “I… wow… wow.That’s… _wow._ ” So, even Sylvain was speechless. That was more than anything Ashe had said, however, as he was making no sound at all. It was more than a moment before Sylvain could speak again, “And I thought I was the crazy one here. I mean, sure, I made my move—or at least, tried to make my move—but you just dived right in. You could have consulted me first, y’know, there’s an art to this. You can’t just start fresh from the gates with marriage, that’s like… I don’t even have a proper comparison.”

“Probably because you’ve never gotten even remotely close to proposing”

“Shut it, Felix, we have more important matters to attend to than ripping on me”

Sylvain was greeted by the fencer’s smirk, “There’s nothing more important than that”

The two of them simply kept at it, trading quips to and fro.

Ashe continued to stand in place, his eyes pointed to the floor in hollow bewilderment. He went to open his mouth multiple times, yet nothing came out. Not a peep. Under nearly any of circumstance, it would be rather funny. Sam could only imagine what must be going through his head. Well, he tried, and failed. He wondered if Ashe was taking this poorly. There was a worry that Ashe might loathe him, or be angry, or any number of things. The students of the Blue Lion House were all friends, he, Ingrid, and Ashe notably so. They were a nigh inseparable trio, and Sam thought this was a good idea to just spring on everyone, let alone Ashe? In what world?

His biggest fear, however, was the potential of having disapointed his friend.

“Look, guys, I know it’s a lot, but—”

“A lot?” Felix decided to interrupt Sam’s attempt at an explanation, “A lot doesn’t quite cover it. What were you thinking? No, you couldn’t have been thinking.”

Sylvain butted in next, “That much is true, but I don’t think it’s actually all that bad of a pairing, they match well. Though, to be honest, I had no idea you felt that way”

“Don’t encourage him, Sylvain. Regardless of how well they get along, doing something like this… it’s just foolish—” Felix shook his head, “—I honestly can’t believe it. I would almost think it were a jest if you didn’t look so damned nerve stricken” he said as he looked back to Samwell.

“Enough with your damn pessimism, Felix. What do you think, Ashe?” Sylvain nudged Ashe once without response, then tried again, “Ashe…?”

“Hm? What?” the archer was brought back to the present, almost half startled as if he were woken from a dream.

Sylvain repeated the question, “I asked for your thoughts on the matter. That’s why we’re all here, no?”

“Oh, right…” Ashe took a few moments to compose his thoughts, stroking his chin. It was no simple question, let alone situation. “Well, I’m not entirely sure. This is all happening so fast, it was the last thing I expected coming in here” though he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting in the first place, “I suppose my question is this; might we be overreacting?”

His own question was met with stares and cocked heads.

“And what exactly makes you think that” Felix crossed his arms, leaning against the frame of the door.

“Well, I mean… yeah, this is a lot, but it’s not the end of the world, right? Sure, like Felix said, it may not have been the _wisest_ thing to do, though Sylvain had a good point as well. They get along and share a lot of the same values. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen”

“What, so you think a wedding amidst a war will cheer everyone right up?”

“I never said that, Felix, we simply need to take things as they are, both the good and the bad” Ashe turned to Sam now, nodding “Why don’t you run us through it, Sam? It might help us better understand where you’re coming from”

And so, he started from the top of yesterday evening; sitting down with Ingrid, eating, chatting, eventually drinking, then the big question. He tried to put the emphasis on his more logic-based reasoning, an alliance between houses to the benefit of everyone involved. Attempting to explain all of that, however, proved to be a more challenging task in his current state than he had anticipated. The whole explanation was a jumbled mess, really. The poor man paused every other sentence or more in a desperate attempt to defend himself. Sam only grew flusher with every word. He reminded Felix of a tomato ready to burst. Not that he could blame Sam, of course. He doubted that he himself would remain totally composed. Not the feverish mess that was Samwell Gregor Pravitz at the present to be sure, but nevertheless, there was work to be done. What that work was, exactly, had yet to be determined. For the moment, it seemed all they could do was pray for the poor sod.

Sylvain leaned in, resting upon his interlocking fingers, “She didn’t try to break any of your bones or kill you, so that’s good”

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head.

Sam shrugged. A sigh escaped his lips before he spoke next, “I mean… I suppose. It helps that she said she that it was something to think on”

The room froze, heads slowly swinging to face Samwell. To describe it as disconcerting wouldn’t do the scene justice.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Ashe which spoke up first, “You’re serious? She’s actually entertaining the idea?”

“It seems so”

Sylvain gave a bewildered _huh_ , “You could’ve told us that sooner, let us know the situation isn’t nearly as dire as we’ve believed up to this point”

“Sorry…”

“The question remains though; what is it that _we_ are supposed to do about the situation, exactly?” Felix, blunt as ever.

It was a good question though. What _were_ they supposed to do about it? Talk with Ingrid? No, that didn’t seem like a good idea in the least, with exception for Ashe, perhaps. Encourage Sam? Discourage him? Smack him upside the head and tell him to go apologize? Avoid her entirely? No, even Sam knew better than that.

“Perhaps” Ashe spoke up now “it’s best to just wait. Give her time to think.”

“Yes, that seems to be the wisest course of action” Sylvain may have his own problems with women, but very few gave him the credit he deserved. Perhaps that would change with age, giving him more time to show his true self and to be confident in that self.

Felix’s eyes rolled, “I’m so glad that we were able to help come to this brilliant conclusion, truly, I have no idea what you would’ve done without us”

“Now now, Felix, no need for the sarcasm—” Sylvain shook his head, “—a friend in need is a friend in need. We helped him calm down if nothing else, clear his head”

“I think he should have done that before proposing to Ingrid over drinks”

“Not exactly the most romantic proposal, is it?” Ashe chuckled.

Sam’s face fell into his hands, “I know, guys, it was foolish. My head wasn’t clear, I wasn’t thinking”

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder once again, Sylvain’s hand, “It’s alright, my friend. If she doesn’t accept then I doubt anything will actually change between you too. In fact I think it would be something to look back on with a good laugh in old age. If she does accept though… well, a whole lot of things will change. Le tme ask you this; _do_ you truly feel this way? Do you love her?”

“I…” it wasn’t something he had actually given much thought. True, he hadn’t given any of this much thought, but his emotions hadn’t even crossed his mind. What _did_ he feel? “I… I-I’m not certain”

“You mean to tell us you don’t love her?”

“I never said that! Well, I just… I guess I don’t feel like that. Not strongly, at least”

Sylvain simply sighed as Felix spoke next, “Your stupidity knows no bounds it seems. Then again, a marriage of pure practicality isn’t all that uncommon, it’s not like she was unprepared for the possibility given her family’s situation. In fact, she was planning on it as almost an eventuality, not that she would’ve been particularly happy about it”

The mop of, admittedly well styled, red hair shook with Sylvain’s head, “At least you two like each other I suppose. Goddess knows there have been worse matches”

Samwell paused a moment, actually, properly thinking. Or so he thought, “What if… what if I withdrew the proposal entirely?”

Every eyebrow in the room shot up to the ceiling. Ok, perhaps not the best suggestion to make.

“Are you insane? You’re not still drunk, are you?” it wasn’t very fair of Felix to be so opposed to the proposal yet equally opposed to rescinding it. Not fair at all. At least he was right about the stupidity bit.

“For once Felix and I agree on something, which is scary in and of itself” Sylvain certainly had a point. Sam always thought hell would freeze over before those two ever properly agreed on, well, anything. The fact that they shared the same opinion on something as grave as this was downright terrifying. It also illuminated that it wasn’t the best choice. When those two shared half a mind for even a moment, it was more likely than not that they had a proper point.

“Yeah, I’m with them on this” not Ashe too. It was the end times, surely. Sam had to resist the urge to look outside and make sure the sky wasn’t falling on their heads.

The resident womanizer decided to continue the line of thought for the three of them, “Not only would that simply make things worse, it’s not very fair, is it? Yanking a girl’s heart around like that. Trust me, I know”

“And yet you’ve never learned your lesson”

“Shut it, Felix”

Ashe stood in a haste, “Will you two stop it already? This is serious. Your bickering like two old crones is helping no one”. He was far more surprised than those around him that his words could hold such a bite to them, he was always so gentle with his companions. The other three ‘gentlemen’ in the room quieted down to look to Ashe’s words of wisdom. The only problem being that he _had_ no other words of wisdom. What could a commoner say to three nobles wrapped up in complicated noble business with a fourth that was, at the moment, non-present? True, Samwell was the closest to a commoner of the lot of them. After losing their ancestral lands, Sam’s mother turned to the life of a merchant. However, it still wasn’t the same. Ashe had grown up on the streets for the most part, eventually orphaned with his two younger siblings. Then again, he was adopted by Lord Lonato, though that wasn’t nearly equivalent to being born into a noble house. “I just… I just think, like I said, we should simply wait and see. There’s not much to be done on Sam’s end now… though I wish you would have told me beforehand”

Sam’s maw gaped and closed, gaped and closed, followed by his head dipping low. It was only just now that he thought of his other best friend in this whole equation. Yes, Ingrid had received the proposal, but Ashe was just as dear to him. To not tell him… must have felt like a betrayal, a lack of trust. Just another casualty of his foolishness, “Ashe… I’m sorry, truly. It just… _came out_. I didn’t even realize what I was saying until it was already said. Please, forgive me.”

What escaped Ashe’s lips was the faintest of sighs, followed by a pause, “It’s alright. You weren’t entirely in your right mind, and I was busy anyhow. It’s not like you planned all this”

“But still—”

“But nothing—” Ashe placed a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder with a tender smile, “—you didn’t mean anything by it, or at least, nothing to hurt me or anyone else.” He could see the corners of Sam’s eyes welled up as he received an understanding nod. People screwed up, yes, but that doesn’t mean those around them stopped caring. Ashe knew that Sam was struggling like the rest of them—each in their own ways—and that was ok. He trusted Ashe enough to come to him if nothing else. It would take more than a half thought out, life changing question to tear their bond… though it seemed a tad dramatic when put like that. Then again, it truly was a dramatic situation, wasn’t it?

Another sigh sounded out from the other side of the room, this time from a rather unexpected source—Felix, “The man has a fair point. The situation is what it is and… maybe, just maybe, we’re treating it as far more disastrous than it actually is—” the three around him were more than a tad surprised, and Felix sighed yet again before continuing the line of thought, “—I know, I know, I’m usually the pessimist here, but just listen a moment; what’s the worst that could happen? He gets turned down? Do any of really think this would change much of anything?” he was met with exchanged looks and a shrug or two, “Sure, it’ll probably be awkward for a while, but a little bit of awkwardness never stopped Ingrid from doing anything. Hell, it’ll probably be something we’ll all laugh about ten years from now”

Samwell nodded, “I… I-I suppose that’s a good point. And we’ve got a little bit before our next mission, so things’ll probably blow over by then no matter what happens… right?”. What followed was silence. More silence. Fantastic. That’s _just_ what he needed right now.

“If that’s what makes you feel better, then yes” Felix broke the silence, rolling his eyes.

“There really is no getting through to you, is there?”

“You should spend less time trying to reason with me, Sylvain, and more time trying to do so with the Boar” and somehow it always comes back to Dimitri with him. He should be careful, else people might start getting ideas.

It was apparent that Ashe had given up being the peacekeeper by this point. In fact, he chuckled, if ever so slightly. Family will be family. Yes, that’s what they all were. Family. Funny how—through the entire conversation and all the points exchanged and shared—it was the bickering that reminded Samwell of what was important. So much had happened in the past six years since they first arrived at the academy, bright eyed students ready and eager for whatever the future held in store. Laughter, tears, blood, joy, anger, unity, betrayal; all of it. Above all, though, there was love, from the utmost trivial to the utterly devoted. Always love. Through thick and thin, they stuck together, side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

Those bonds could never be put to words, not truly, not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Banding Together! So far I'm having fun and am working towards the next chapter (like my other WIPs... right? Right). 
> 
> I know this pandemic is difficult for many... many have been isolated from their loved ones for countless days, weeks, even months, and many have lost those dear to them, or know someone who has. It's a scary time, but I know that we as a species can pull through. We have in the past and we will now. Please, everyone, stay safe, stay home, and stay clean! It may not feel like much, but with your help we can not only end this global crisis sooner, but we can save lives doing it. 
> 
> Love,  
> That Dead Dude
> 
> ps, if you loved (or even just liked) this chapter and work, please consider leaving kudos and even a comment! I may not always get back to comments in a timely manner, but they still mean a lot (and kudos too, obviously)!


	3. Night Watch and the Song by the Fireside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samwell Gregor Pravitz has never been one for camp fires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an initial idea of "light" angst and then... it just went downhill faster than I could say "it's not me writing this, I swear, it's all them!"  
> Regardless, I had SO much (devious) fun writing this, and I hope y'all enjoy it too.

**Southwestern Span of the Oghma Mountains, 7th Day of the Pegasus Moon, Year 1185 of the Imperial Calendar**

There was plenty of laughter to be had, and yet she found her gaze drifting further off, barely in the light of the campfire. He had always done this, sit off on his own. Never during the day nor twilight, only ever at night. He almost never faced the fire itself either, only ever out towards the woods or to either side of the camp at best. It seemed...

Lonely. 

A thought came to mind, a thought that had crossed it many times before. She always dismissed it, of course. It seemed rude and she didn’t wish to pry. Yet five years on, her curiosity persisted. It couldn’t hurt to ask a simple question, could it?

Ingrid raised her hand, waving to Samwell sitting against a tree, his knee perched up into his chest. His head shifted towards her, almost surprised to garner any attention, “Hey, Sam!” very few actually called him Sam. Nicknames are natural, of course, but not for him. The Blue Lions and Hilda were notable exceptions, however. Hilda called everyone by a nickname—even though being called ’Sammy’ drove him up a wall—and Ingrid... well, they just clicked in a way. Their fighting styles were nearly synced, and many swore the two of them turned combat itself into a dance, the battlefield their chaotic ballroom. As for the others, that came in time and trust. A long while, actually, filled with many dangers and, at the time, far too much fighting for those so young. “Why don’t you come over and join us?”

She hadn’t brought up the proposal, so no one else would. Some more than others waited in tense anticipation.

“I uh—the” he said, clearing his throat, “—I’m alright here. Just keeping watch” maybe that excuse would be enough to fend them off.

It wasn’t.

“Oh, come on, Sam! Don’t give me that, we’re perfectly safe! I promise you, it’s a lot colder over than over here!” She seemed awfully confident to the others, but they were too invested in the spectacle to point that out. 

“I... well...” Sam groaned, “... fine, fine. Fine. I’ll come over” the man groaned again as he stood up. Several times, actually, his body was stiff, either from the position or the cold he couldn’t say. It was probably both. Old wounds didn’t help either.

In all honesty, that was easier than she thought it would be. In her mind, she was going to have to drag him to the fire side, most likely kicking and screaming along the way, “Thanks, it’s always been odd not to have you by the fire when we camp out”

Wow, she really went for that one, didn’t she?

Sam, now being all but interrogated, scratched at the back of his head, “Oh, well uh... yeah, sorry about that” and that was it. He didn’t continue the thought, just sat there looking around the group then to the fire itself. He wasn’t normally akin to a fish out of water, yet here they all were. Sitting around. Nice and awkward.

The others were sandwiched into the conversation like a miner’s lunch, or perhaps like a side of potato wedges, not that Ingrid paid it any mind. Sam seemed... almost oblivious. Just distant, eyes dull, face solemn. He was normally so full of laughter and grins. Not now, however. Ingrid felt a shiver make its way along her spine ever so slightly. 

Sylvain decided to jump in now, thinking that he might help smooth it all over, “It’s not a big deal, we just miss you is all!”

“Y-Yeah, like I said, sorry about that” he said, giving another apologetic chuckle. Not much to work with.

“Feel like talkin’ about it?”

“No, but thank you”

Then came silence. Not for a long while, maybe ten or fifteen minutes at most, but more than enough time for Ingrid to second guess her decision to pester Sam. At least, it felt like pestering. 

Sylvain simply shrugged as if to give a nonverbal ‘ _whatever you say_ ’ before turning to Felix, “Yo, pass over a sausage?” The swordsman groaned, sighed, and rolled his eyes, but complied with the request all the same.

While Ingrid held her face in her hands, Sam gazed over to the cart. He couldn’t explain why, a whim really, but he was glad for it—a lyre, no longer than the length of his torso, just the right size. As to why there was a lyre on their purely combat oriented mission? He couldn’t say and he wouldn’t question it.

The others didn’t know what to make of his abrupt exit but they figured they’d upset him somehow. Before anyone could begin an apology, he had returned, sat down, and began tuning the found instrument. String by string, he plucked, and string by string he garnered more attention. The instrument wasn’t too terribly out of tune. Whomever actually owned the thing—or used it at least—wasn’t bad per se, but was clearly an amateur.

It took but a few minutes more before he was satisfied. There was only so much one could do in the field, even if an object was as finely crafted as that in his hand.

Everyone found themselves waiting with held breath, even if they themselves didn’t realize it. Not that Sam did either, the outside world had faded away long ago.

A priming pluck, and another, and another. Then began the melody—slow, his tone bittersweet with old memories:

_O’_

_Come guess me this riddle; what beats pipe and fiddle?_

_What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream?_

_What best wets your whistle? What's clearer than crystal?_

_What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam?_

_What will make the dumb talk? What will make the lame walk?_

_The elixir of life and philosopher’s stone_

_And what helped Mr. Grunnell to dig the Mach Tunnel?_

_Wasn't it whiskey from ould Inishowen?_

_So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature_

_For drowning your sorrows and raising your joys_

_Oh goddess, no wonder, if lightning and thunder_

_Were made from the plunder of whiskey, me boys._

And then, it ended. Tenderly, almost, as if he were laying down an infant.

Samwell cleared his throat, looking around to all the eyes now resting upon him—more than a little disconcerting, “I uh, well... sorry, I know I’m not very good, I—”

“No!” Ingrid was the first to speak out, “it was lovely! Soothing even”

The others nodded and agreed, Sylvain being nearly as enthusiastic. Flayn gave quick, excited claps and hollers in support—not to mention several calls for an encore, which Mercedes and Annette supported full heartedly. Felix grunted in a way Sam took time be approval.

“My da taught it to me, oh, _ages_ ago.” Sam went on, “I haven’t played it in a long while so I forget the rest so... there it is” he was very prone to pausing it seemed, at least tonight. Another thing that seemed off. He had never been anywhere near as sheepish Marianne was, yet here he was, a timid hare in the countryside.

“I noticed you haven’t spoken much of your father. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard you reference him once in our entire time at the academy, might I ask why that is?” Mercie spoke now with her kind, gentle voice. Just as Mercie had never heard about Sam’s father, he in turn had never heard her harden her tone nor raise her voice. No one had really. The patience and goodwill that requires must be utterly exhausting. 

Sam merely shrugged at the question, “Well, I’m not sure. It’s not like we have a poor relationship, my family life is just—” he paused, stroking his chin “—complicated, I guess. Ever since I was a kid it’s just been... complicated” Sam said, rubbing an arm as he finished speaking, not that he was saying much to begin with.

Mercie seemed less than satisfied in the answer, and it showed, “Ah, I see. We have all night, the sun wasn’t down not two hours ago”

She spoke directly to Sam, but his eyes wouldn’t pull away from the fire, a mirror to its flickering arms and embers. The entirety of his attention was absorbed by flame. Ingrid saw something hollow behind his eyes. Yet another shiver traveled along her spine, this time more intense, though she attributed it to the icy weather of the mountain passes.

“Sam?” Ingrid nudged his shoulder. No response. He was clearly breathing, but you’d only notice if you were taking a good, solid look. “Uh... Sam? You ok? What’s wrong?” She hid it well, but the undertone of concern was ever present to those properly listening. Her efforts grew more forceful little by little. No more than necessary, however.

A moment more passed before he nearly startled off the log he had sat down on, “What? What is it, are we under attack?! I knew I shouldn’t have left my pos—“ the man shot up, hand to his sword in less than a half breath, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Everyone pulled back, unsure of just what the hell was going on.

All except for Ingrid. 

Ashe and Sylvain were ready to pounce and were about to do so before Ingrid tenderly, if swiftly, placed her hand on Sam’s arm. He pivoted to face her and drew his sword entirely. Not in an effort to harm anyone, but purely out of instinct. The only reason Felix didn’t cut him down then and there was Ingrid’s hand raised towards him (and half the team holding him back).

She stood, facing him defiantly. No. Not defiantly. Rather, unmovable as a boulder, steadfast and determined, steeled eyes gazing into his. His voice wavered, hands trembled, and he dropped his blade altogether. Sam’s eyes widened further, pupils somehow dilating even more. Tears began to pool in his eyes, and something else.

_Shame_.

“I... I-I...” he looked from person to person—some taking yet another step back—before finally turning back to Ingrid, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice cracked as he fell to his knees. That’s all he repeated; ’I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

_’I’m so sorry’_

Ingrid could do nothing but lower herself and simply hold him in her arms. She embraced him and he merely curled into himself more. Realizing that she refused to let go, Sam gave up the effort and instead clung to her.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ _**I’m so sorry**_.

Now Mercie gathered her resolve and walked to them. Annette tried to stop her to no avail. Once to the pair, Mercedes kneeled down and grasped both in her arms. That wasn’t Sam, the real Sam, and she knew it. 

Annie decided to follow her lead and gather to them as well, and then Ashe and Sylvain, and all but Felix—who instead stood and watched over the lot of them—huddled together in an embrace. It only fueled his shame, his embarrassment, but he had no choice. Once Sam had finally calmed, they stood back one by one until it was Ingrid’s turn. She was hesitant, but slowly she stood. She would not stand without him, however, and gently pulled him up with her at his own pace. 

Once he was up though, he wouldn’t uncover his face, his eyes masked behind a gloved hand, tears rolling down his face to the point that the trails began to merge. Ingrid wouldn’t let the other hand go, she refused to. She would never leave him when he needed people—needed her—most. Wether that was because they so close as friends, or something more, or that she simply felt obligated to, she couldn’t say. That fact left a lump at the bottom of her throat.

Everyone else, however, was once again left in an awkward silence. It was not to be broken though, they knew this, if for no other reason than avoiding Ingrid’s wrath. No, rather because they respected him. He had been pushed and poked and prodded too far. No one was to blame, it was all well meaning, they simply knew they needed to let off from his boundaries. Well, Sylvain was his suave self, coming up to place a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He was keen to make sure he didn’t come from a blind spot. Oh, _that_ was a poor choice of words. 

“You’re alright, my friend, _you’re safe_ ” Sylvain said. Sam nodded as he wiped his face with the back of his hand as best he could. He then placed that hand on Sylvain’s, nodding again with more assuredness, even if he were still shaken from the experience.

“Are you done what your little outburst? You’re nearly as bad as the Boar”

“Felix!” Ingrid’s head snapped her direction. What was once a steeled gaze now turned into a roaring flame focused directly on him. He took the cue to back down, fortunately enough for his sake.

“No, he has a point—” Sam sniffled ever so slightly, “—that was unacceptable... I almost... _I almost_ —” he began to tremble once more before Ingrid squeezed his hand.

Her head turned back to him, her fingers tenderly raising his head, “No, you didn’t. You didn’t.” Her voice was audible only to him. A sigh escaped her lips before her volume returned to normal, not particularly caring who heard her, “Oh, Sam, our darling Sam”. What was there to do? What could they do? What even was all this? Not too long ago they were a bunch of kids. Some of them still were.

Mercie cleared her throat, not at the two of them, but rather to the rest of the group, signaling for them to sit down. They all did so happily. Ingrid and Sam followed shortly after, if for no other reason than not wanting to stand out, so to speak. He couldn’t stomach the stares.

Sam gripped his hands together in an attempt to stop the trembling, but decided that there was a better option to steady his nerves and pulled out his trusty flask—filled with whiskey, of course. It was about the size of his laid flat. It’s best to have a large supply on hand if you’re gonna carry any at all; he learned that from his father. It seems the lesson had finally become useful.

Ingrid was about to snatch it from his grasp but thought better of it. Let the man have his creature comfort, at least for the moment. Probably not the healthiest solution but it was the best he could do for now. 

However, he took a larger swig than he should have. Much larger. It was more like a gulp. And then another. And then another.

She really should’ve limited his consumption. How was the swill not burning his throat? What even _was_ it? Whiskey? No, that would be too on the nose, “Sam... what’s that?”

He finally took a breath of fresh air, “Oh, this? A family brew, whiskey and rum. Mix of sweet and spice and just a _tad_ bitter—” he gave a wink and took a properly proportioned swig this time, “—a sip?” he said, offering it to her.

She shouldn’t have accepted, but she did. The coughing took more than a moment or two to die down, only to be met with a chuckle or two.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ve just been drinking the stuff for a long while, forgot it might rough up your throat” Sam continued.

“Just how long?”

“How long you ask?” the man gave another chuckle, though now it was timid as he took yet another sip. The man had quite the constitution. It was apparent in his training and in combat, but apparently he could hold his liquor too. Not that it was particularly comforting to Ingrid.

Sylvain came up now, politely reaching his hand out. Sam was happy to oblige. Ingrid wasn’t so happy. That changed when Sylvain had a similar reaction as her, met by her own laughter.

“Hey, that’s not funny!” Sylvain cried.

Felix, of course, had to offer his two cents, “Well, I thought so”

Now, the whole group was laughing, seeming to have forgotten the events not too long prior.

Sam gently took the flask back as Sylvain cleared what was left of his throat. He would’ve taken another swig had Mercedes not stepped up and deftly taken the thing. Everyone expected her to stow it, her sweet smiling telling everyone that it wasn’t healthy. Instead, however, _she threw her head back as she took far too large a gulp_. She covered her lips with a gentle touch and gave a little _ahem_ before she returned the swill.

Needless to say, everyone was confounded, flabbergasted, bamboozled, and many other long-winded words conveying extreme confusion. Mercie couldn’t help but giggle. People underestimated her far too often, and once in a pale blue moon it would smack them upside the head with the force of Raphael’s training sessions.

Annette, on the other hand, had a worse reaction than Sylvain when she intercepted the hand off. Poor thing just about turned blue, though Ingrid and Mercie quickly came to her aid. Sam wanted to help but... he figured he had done enough for one night, even if his legs would’ve let him move. Instead, he laughed with everyone else as he sat down.

Yes, this is where he belonged, _with them_. Whatever troubles he may face, in the past, present, or future, he knew he could always rely on them. And maybe Felix, but he didn’t feel like testing his luck any time soon.

Everything was, more or less, back to normal. As normal as things could be for the lot of them, that is. No one was sure just how to define ‘ _normal_ ’ anymore. Sam didn’t think it would matter until the war was over. If it would actually end, that is. The conflict seemed everlasting, even after five long years. He hadn’t paid much attention to dates in history—sorry, professor—so he wasn’t sure how long wars normally lasted, but it didn’t seem like it mattered. People suffered all the same, their lives were destroyed all the same, their loved ones were taken all the same.

Except for the Blue Lions. Sam would be damned to the fires of Ailel before he would lose them, his team, his friends.

_His family_.

Yes, his family. Ma and Da were great, wonderful people who loved him and raised him as best they could, but as people grow and learn and explore, their family will always grow to those around. Ingrid, Sylvain, Annette, Mercy, Ashe.

Even Felix. Maybe. That would be complicated for a long time to come.

Now they were all passing around his flask, but what was a little booze between family... right? Oh, _oh boy_ , half the damn thing must’ve been gone already. Or maybe three quarters. He was sure, if nothing else, that it would be empty before the night would end. There were already several rosey faces around him, there was no stopping the tide now. Not that he wanted to, this shit was getting entertaining. Annie and Mercie were dancing arm in arm, round and round and round until they fell to the ground. Sylvain, always the “gentleman” (Ingrid would scoff at the notion) attempted you help them up but simply found himself on the ground as well. Poor Flayn tried to get her own taste but was foiled by the superior height of nearly everyone there, much to her grief and frustration.

This was it, this was joy.

Sam looked to each of their faces, each wonderfully beautiful, before finally resting on Ingrid’s. Hers was a face full of warmth and love and care. A face he was happy to look upon. He would never be so confident about his own face, but always about hers. The light of the fire danced in her emerald eyes, much like they all were doing, yet entirely graceful. It seemed as if the fire coming from within herself, a passion he would gladly lend himself to. Perhaps even for the rest of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be a slow and steady fic methinks, spread out over a long time because I am terrible at maintaining a consistent motivation (never mind my hyperfixations), but I plan on keeping it running!
> 
> Love and best wishes, stay safe everyone,  
> That Sorta Dead Dude


End file.
